I hobbled over to the dressing table and sat down. I began to brush my hair, discovering a tuft of hair sticking out from the rest. At first I thought nothing of it, trying to brush it back into place. This did not succeed, and on further examination, I realized a lock of my hair had been cut off!
I clutched at the side of my head. I was caught in a quandary as to how to react, which symbolized my growing ambivalence towards my lover. I’d wanted to spend this second consecutive night on my own. I could live with knowing he had invaded my privacy to make a romantic – and perhaps a conciliatory – gesture. But in cutting my hair, I felt he had abused my trust. Something about this behaviour disturbed me, and I wondered about his motivation.
I stared into the mirror and could not move for at least five minutes. I carried on brushing out the tangles in my hair, steadying my nerves. I heard the mingled voices of Emily, Yasuko and Janis rumbling away in my thoughts.
Leave now, or be further embroiled….Leave now, or be prepared to share him….Be careful, he has a darker side….Easy to get, impossible to keep….
I debated whether it was the time to go. I had stayed with Dylan longer than most. I could have left long before now. In remaining, I’d begun to discover deeper layers of his complex character. This held out a fascination for me. But something lay beyond even this – a strange compulsion to keep close to Dylan, utterly beyond all reason and self-preservation.
To depart now would leave my task incomplete. An oddly disappointing scenario. Not just for John, but for me.
Instead, I put some of my new clothes into my rucksack, together with the spare set of Austin-Healey keys. This would facilitate a fast escape at a later time, if need be.
Dylan’s approaching footsteps in the corridor made me bundle the rucksack back inside the wardrobe. Then I dived onto the bed and flipped myself over onto the floor on the other side. I climbed to my feet, running back to the dressing table and sitting down in the chair, just in time for Dylan to appear.
I fiddled with my hair as Dylan came up behind me. He nestled his head against mine, laid his hands upon my shoulders, and whispered into my ear. ‘I hope you liked the roses. Peace offering. I’m sorry I upset you so much.’
He kissed my cheek and his right hand crept under my gown and encircled my left breast before I could answer.
‘It was a nice thought.’ I felt myself succumbing to his roaming fingers on my nipple and fought hard mentally to resist it.
I turned and gave him a perfunctory kiss on his lips, then tried to rise to my feet. He withdrew his hand, disappointed.
‘Look, I just need a little more time, Dylan.’
He sat down on the bed, but did not respond.
‘I can’t get my head around the concept of sharing you with others.’
‘I see.’ He bowed his head to the floor and fidgeted with his fingers. ‘You’re not the only one to’ve said that, of course. That’s why few stay for long.’
‘It doesn’t help when you hide things from me. Why didn’t you tell me Yasuko was your wife?’
‘Well….you never asked.’
I shook my head at his facetious reply and ignored his grin. ‘You’ll need to give me more time to process it all. Otherwise you’ll lose me for good as well.’
Dylan became distressed, slapped his hands on his thighs and cast his arms skyward. He climbed to his feet and paced the room in manic fashion. Then he became more pensive as he propped himself against the windowsill.
‘Well, I’ve said all along you can leave when you like. I’m not stopping you. Everyone else seems to be doing so, so why not join the crowd, eh?’
I came over to him, compassion returning, draping myself over him and kissing him again. ‘I’m still here, aren’t I?’
‘Don’t tease me, Freya. Make up your mind.’
He pushed me to one side and made for the door.
Seeing my forlorn expression as he turned back to face me, he said: ‘I’ve got a novel to write, so you’ll have plenty of time to think things through.’
He closed the door and my composure broke. It was getting increasingly difficult to maintain my false facade.
Suddenly, the door reopened and he saw me slumped against the wall. He ignored this, and said: ‘I’m expecting a postal delivery. Please see to it, so I don’t have to be disturbed. Thanks.’
He left and I heard the door to the tower being opened, closed, then locked.
I’d made my choice, at least for now.
I dressed and went down to the kitchen, trying to cheer myself up with a full fried breakfast. Despite this, I found myself moping around the Lodge with increasing lassitude. I returned to Dylan’s novel, which provided some escape, finishing it and falling asleep on the sofa in the drawing room.
The shrill sound of the entrance buzzer awoke me. I wearily climbed to my feet, and went into the front hallway to find a red light flashing on the video link. I picked up the telephone, seeing the postal truck on the monitor, and buzzed him through when he confirmed his details.
I went out to meet him at the front door. A short, grey-haired man in a cap climbed down from the cab.
‘’Ello, deliv’ry for Mr. Quest.’ He held out a clipboard with the paperwork to sign. ‘Ain’t seen you before?’
‘No,’ I said, signing the form for him.
‘Dyl’n not around?’
‘No, he’s busy writing. Told me to deal with you.’
‘OK. I need key to outer gate’ouse. I’ll jus’ ge’ it.’ He walked towards the door.
‘Hold on,’ I said, trying to block his way.
‘’Ey, don’t worry. ’E knows me well. I’m ’is ex-brother-in-law.’
‘Oh.’
He held out his hand for me to shake. ‘I’m Norton, Paul Norton. Go’n’ find Dyl’n if you ain’t believin’ me.’
‘No, let’s not disturb him,’ I answered. ‘So you’re Janis’s old man?’ It was a slip of the tongue in response to my realization that he must have been about twenty years older than her.
He nodded. ‘But we ain’t b’n together for years.’
I eyed him curiously, but let him go into the hallway and pick a huge brass key off the hook on the wall.
He returned to the cab of his van, then wound down the window. ‘Yea c’n join me if yea wan’, if yea still ain’t certain. Could do wi’ an extra pair of ’ands, any’ow.’
I paused for a moment. With nothing much better to do, I was soon in the cab alongside him and we were driving down to the front gates. He parked up and opened the back doors and climbed inside.
As I alighted, I heard the rooks’ cries echoing across the grounds, where morning mist still clung to the dewy lawns.
Paul hauled a large sack to the edge and let it fall onto the driveway.
‘This all for him?’
‘That’s jus’ one. There’s more back there,’ he said, pointing over his shoulder. Sure enough, he retrieved four more sacks. Then he jumped out and pulled down the rear shutter, making sure it was securely fastened.
He walked over to the arched oak door and twisted the key in the lock. I tried to pull one of the sacks towards him.
‘Whoa! Yea’ll break yea’ back, lady.’
He went inside and returned with a trolley. Then we loaded the first and made separate trips until all the sacks were inside.
The ground-floor chamber was full of gardening implements and machinery. I stared around the cobwebbed walls, whilst he climbed the spiral staircase and opened up a trapdoor overhead. A rope with a large hook on the end was lowered by pulleys. I placed each sack on the end of the hook and watched them rise into the roof one at a time.
Then I joined him upstairs. The upper chamber had bare floorboards, fake arrow slits and the portcullis mechanism. Over half the room, from floor to ceiling, was filled with postal sacks.
He looked at my incredulity. ‘It’s all the fan mail ’e gets. Comes through a PO Box Number, so they can’t discover ’is address. ’S’ad a numb
er of stalkers and fanatics, yea see. We store it up at depot and deliver’t once a month. ‘
‘He gets all this?’
‘Yeah. Can’t be bother’d to ’ire secret’ries no more. Jus’ got too much, innit? Stores ’em ’ere, then builds big bonfire on Guy Fawkes ’n’ invites local children up t’watch.’
‘He burns them unread?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He started towards the stairs. ‘Look, I mus’ be off. Yea c’n leave place unlocked. I’ll be back after end of me rounds to do garden. Somethin’ ’bout motorbike damage to sort ou’.’ He gave me a wry look, as if he knew I’d been partly to blame for this, then he was gone.
I heard the van move off and caught a glimpse of it through an arrow slit, which had been glazed to keep out the elements. Then I jumped as the portcullis descended automatically in response to the vehicle passing through.
The urge to take a peek at some of the mail was too tempting to ignore. I undid one of the sacks and let a stack of letters pour out onto the floor. According to Paul, Dylan wasn’t even going to open them. So, even though I was breaking a trust, I justified it to myself quite easily.
Once I’d opened one, I was drawn into another, then another, and so on, until well over three hundred letters lay discarded around my feet. And several hours had gone by without me really noticing.
The mail could be placed into four main categories. A small proportion of them were from academics, distilling the literary qualities of Dylan’s novels, sometimes with requests for a meeting or a lecture. The second lot were conventional fan letters from readers who’d taken pleasure from his books. A lesser amount were from would-be writers, inspired by his work, questioning where he got his ideas from and seeking other advice. Sometimes they even enclosed unsolicited manuscripts for him to read and make suggestions.
But by far the greater majority of letters were from female fans wanting to meet him, the prose ranging from the rather restrained to the gushingly amorous. Most had sent in accompanying photographs of themselves, from the conventional to the downright pornographic. The fans ranged in age from early teens to past retirement. Dangerously, almost without fail they’d left their contact details; one or two of these were from ladies famous in their own right, who should’ve known better.
The great majority of this sample were lost deep within their own fantasy worlds, sometimes detailing these graphically. However, I counted at least ten who’d had some kind of sexual relation with the author. Some appeared contented with a one-night stand, knowing to expect nothing more. Others were enraged by Dylan’s lack of contact after the deed, one or two of these sounding deeply disturbed.
I stuffed the letters back into the sack, which was harder than imagined now the seal was broken. Then I followed the staircase upwards, drawing the bolt on the heavy door and finding myself out on the battlements. I could see part of the main Lodge, but most of the view was lost by the ever-encroaching trees.
As I descended to the ground floor, a white Bedford minivan appeared in the entrance. Paul Norton got out and I had to run back to the main house in order to activate the portcullis again. I returned to find him putting on overalls and selecting a few tools and placing them in a wheelbarrow.
‘B’n ’ere all this time, ’ave yea?’
‘Yes.’
‘B’n nosing, ’ave yea?’
‘No!’
‘’Course yea ’ave, but don’t worry. Discreet’s name o’ game wi’ me.’
I thanked him, but was still wracked by guilt.
‘Well, don’t jus’ stand there. Either ’elp or bugger off, there’s work to do!’
Somewhat taken aback, I decided on the former, and I was soon carting tools over to the back of his van. Then he locked up the gatehouse and drove us back to the inner courtyard.
He took off his cap and scratched his bald head as he surveyed the churned-up lawn and the two damaged flowerbeds. He had a gaunt and craggy face, as if he’d spent all his life halfway up a fellside. I still couldn’t envisage him and Janis together; even supposing she’d been seeking a stabilizing father figure, and allowing for the passing years since the break-up of their marriage.
He sank to his knees and began to dig about in the flowerbed with a trowel, endeavouring to rescue what he could.
‘’Ow long yea b’n ’ere, then?’
I did a mental calculation, using my fingers to count which amused him. I came up with a figure of eighteen days. ‘Nearly three weeks.’
‘Mus’ be ’is latest, I take it.’
‘Yes, hasn’t Janis told you?’
‘Oh, no. Ain’t spoke to ’er in years.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Well, ’twos acrimonious split. For me, at least. Never lasted beyon’ six months. Frigid cow only let me shaft ’er few times. Old Questy cuckolded me pretty damn quick, if yea mus’ know.’
‘Why be his gardener, then?’
‘Well, jobs’re ’ard to come by round ’ere. Post Office don’t pay enough. Really down on me luck, I wos, when ’e ’ired me as workman when ’e restor’d this place. Despite diff’culties, I’s a loyal man. Dyl’n don’t trus’ many, no’ wi’ reporters sniffin’ ’round, so I’s done odd jobs for ’im ’bout place ever since.’
‘Is that how you and Janis met?’
‘Aw no, watch’d ’ole fam’ly grow up, I did. Me Dad wos ’ead gardener at Faversham ’Ouse for many a year; follow’d in ’is footsteps, I did.’
‘Faversham House? The Edwardian mansion that burnt down?’
‘Yeah.’ He looked surprised that I knew. ‘That’s it. Mysterious episode, it wos. Me Dad wos badly burnt rescuing Lady Faversham. Both lost our liveli’oods after tha’.’
‘I’m sorry. So you watched the children grow up?’
‘Yeah, from distance, at least. Ser’phina was a beauty. ’Ad plenty of fantasies ’bout ’er, I c’n tell yea.’ He gave me a leer, before returning his attention to the plants. ‘Janis was a tomboy. Used to come into green’ouse an’ ’elp ou’ sometimes.’
‘So that’s how you two got to know each other, then?’
‘Yeah, but she wos jus’ a littl’ girl then. Wasn’t till she lost all ’er money an’ property, tha’ she wos brough’ down to my level. All tha’ death didn’t ’elp, neither. Well, Sir Fred’rick was an ol’ man, ’is time’d come. But Ser’phina, well tha’ wos jus’ tragic.’
‘Yes….What happened to all their wealth?’
‘When ’ouse burnt down, insurance didn’t cover’t. Lost a lot there. Then there wos lots o’ legal wranglin’ when Eric in’erited title ’n’ estate as male heir.’
‘Title?’
‘Yeah, Sir Fred’rick wos a baronet. That’s why ’e wos called “Sir”; yea stupid or somethin’?’
His patronizing tone rankled, but I let it pass.
‘Lady V’ronica challenged ’im in court, once ’e came of age. There wos two diff’rent wills. ’Is paternity wos also questioned….’
‘Eh?’
‘V’ronica couldn’t be sure Eric wos Sir Fred’rick’s child. ’Ad an affair, or so she said. Made some sense, too.’E wos blond-’aired. All rest of ’em ’ad black ’air. ’Is face wos diff’rent, too. ’E might’ve suspect’d ’isself, cos ’e wos a righ’ tearaway.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. ’E wos in nick when will case came t’court. Righ’ delinquent, ’e wos – vandalism, thieving, arson. Ev’ryone ’round ’ere knew ’e’d burnt down mansion ’ouse.’
‘Really. Now that is interesting.’
‘Wos talk o’ ev’n more serious stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’s only knows wha’ I knows. Wouldn’t wanna commen’ further. None of them do. ’E’s serving time over in Oz now ’n’ all.’
‘I see.’ A missing segment was coming together in my mind.
‘Decid’d in Eric’s favour, them judges did. But most o’ money wos lost to them lawyers. Only thing Sir Fred’rick’d bequeath’d ’er wos this
godforsak’n Lodge, ’n’ she’d ’ad t’sell it jus’ t’cover ’er own costs. Janis wos left wi’ nothin’. ’N’ Em’ly ’ad t’grow up like one of us, not all ’oity-toity like Ser’phina.’
‘Well, Janis seems very down to earth.’
‘Yeah, Janis wos always treat’d like dirt. Never quite treat’d us as equals, but us servants gave ’er ’lot more attention than ’er own folks, ’n’ she ’preciated tha’. As for m’Lady, she wos common as mud ’erself.’
‘She told me she came from a wealthy family?’
‘Aw, don’t believe tha’. No, she wos part o’ scheme Faversham fam’ly ’ad f’r givin’ schol’ships t’bright young girls wi’out own means. Ended up marrying one o’ them, Sir Fred’rick did. ’Twos weird if yea ask me. Cradle-snatching, local’s called it. Couldn’t’ve b’n more’n eighteen when they ’itched up.’
‘Was Dylan’s mother one of those girls given a scholarship as well?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, now yea come t’mention’t, believe she wos. There wos twelve in all. Think the ol’ Baron instigated scheme back in them Victor’n days. ’Bout ev’ry twen’y years a new lot wos given’t.’
‘What did these scholarships entail?’
‘Believe they wos tak’n ’way from families ’n’ giv’n places at posh schools. Came ’n’ stay’d at big ’ouse in ’olidays. Pretty girls they wos, too.’ He gave me another leer.
‘I see.’
‘I basic’lly grew up wi’ their comin’s ’n’ goin’s.’
He had completed work on the first flowerbed and we meandered over to the second, carrying the tools. He began rearranging the flowers, showing a lot of patient nurture. Every now and then, he tutted at the damage.
‘Lots o’ weird goin’s-on, there wos.’
‘How d’you mean?’
He looked about furtively, as if making sure no one was about to overhear. ‘Well, I tried t’come up ’ere as a kid wi’ me mates once. ’Twas a ruin then. Got scared off by dogs.’
‘Dogs?’
Freya's Quest Page 14
